Sister by Blood
by ApocalypseCat
Summary: ... and a friend by choice. We all love our world's only consulting detective; but would we love his sister too, if he had one? Would she be as annoying, as genius as Sherlock? What if she appeared on the doorway to 221B Baker Street? How would that go? 'Dear Christ, there's two of them.' Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, or any of the characters.
1. Sister by Blood, Friend by Choice

**A/N: I've always wondered what Sherlock's sister would be like if he had one and this is the result! It's definitely going to be a multi-chapter story, I've got about 10 chapters, give or take a few, in mind. I'd like to apologise in advance for any offence Sherlock's sister may cause due to her dislike of America. By the way, this is set in A Scandal In Belgravia after the pool scene but before Irene, when they're doing all those cases. I hope you enjoy! **

* * *

><p><strong>1. A SISTER BY BLOOD; A FRIEND BY CHOICE<strong>

Sherlock had stolen John's laptop. Again. And was ranting on about tobacco ash on his website, _The Science of Deduction_. Again. And John was reading the newspaper while drinking his tea. Yes, pretty much an abnormally normal day, and so John savoured it, because there sure weren't many. He half expected Lestrade to burst in with another case and then Sherlock would jump up and down like a child, and the day would take a drastic turn.

The whole day went by, and no such drastic turn. Which was just strange, really, reflected John. He was actually beginning to worry; especially when he had come back from the store with some milk (where he also fought with the self-checkout, as per usual) and there were no bullet holes in the wall, no experiments for velocity in the air, nothing. Sherlock was being quiet and was_ actually behaving. _Then Sherlock got a call from Lestrade. _And so the drastic turn commences, _John thought. Yes, there was a drastic turn. But not the expected one.

"Can't. Busy," Sherlock said then immediately hung up, before the stunned Lestrade could say a word.

"Busy?!" John exclaimed, "You've been doing _nothing _for the past day!" _Excluding the rants about the tobacco ash_, John added mentally.

"Yes, John, busy. Didn't you hear me?" Sherlock said, never tearing his eyes away from the screen, except for one glance at John and to say, "Tobacco ash rants are important," with the hint of a smile. John sighed. The mind-reading again.

Just then, the kettle clicked and Sherlock rose out if his seat. What on earth did he need the kettle for in an experiment?

"Don't destroy the kettle please, Sherlock. It would be rather annoying to have to get another one," John said.

"John, your assumptions are incorrect, as usual," John rolled his eyes. The day was getting back to normal. "I am making tea!" Sherlock exclaimed. John stared at him for a few moments. The day was most certainly _not _getting back to normal. If anything, it was getting stranger. Sherlock got out three cups. What?! Then, the grinning skull on the mantelpiece caught John's eye. No. Impossible. Or maybe not?

"Oh, is the skull getting tea now, too?" John said, not completely sarcastic.

"That cup better be for me; bloody freezing out there!" A voice said. Hang on; the _skull _was talking?! Then John realised that the voice came from the door. He turned there to see a young woman in her early twenties or so, with dark locks rippling over her shoulders and mischievous yet intelligent, sparkling green eyes.

Silence. John was stunned (how on earth did she even get in?) and Sherlock was deducing. "Well you're absolutely _marvellous _hosts." She said sarcastically. Suddenly, Sherlock's face broke into a huge smile and he gathered the girl in his arms and lifted her up into the air. She laughed and hugged him back. Their smiles seemed to be radiating the whole room, lighting it up as effectively as sunshine.

"Just like when we were younger," Sherlock said to her, with a caring expression. Caring was an emotion that Sherlock was capable of?! _Hugging _was an action that Sherlock was capable of?! John was so bemused about this; he didn't even register what Sherlock said. John thought he was the one who knew him best. Perhaps, after all, he didn't know him that well.

"Tea?" Sherlock asked the girl. John was still really confused about everything. Because quite frankly, who wouldn't? There was a stranger in the house, and even if that weren't enough, Sherlock was not being arrogant or deducing her whole life story; in fact, he was being _nice_. John sighed; this was probably a dream.

"With pleasure," The girl said with a grin. Now it was just John and the stranger. Well this was bound to go well.

"So …" John started. He certainly wasn't one for awkward silences.

"Don't feel the need to fill the silence, John Hamish Watson," The girl said, falling back onto the armchair.

"I don't know you. How on earth do you know my full name?" John asked. Suddenly, a terrifying thought entered John's brain. "Are you stalking me?!" John blurted out before he could stop himself. The girl laughed. John heard a laugh from the kitchen too. Was there a joke that he was missing here? Little did he know that it had been this girl's job for the past eight years to stalk people.

"No, I'm not actually," She replied.

"Okay then … Can we start over?" John said with a hopeful smile.

"Very well," The girl said, obviously trying to hide a smile. She leant back and crossed her arms expectantly.

"I'm John-" John started.

"Yes, I know," The girl interrupted with an exasperated expression. John glared at her.

"Well you're not supposed to!" He countered. He felt quite at ease talking to her like this, as if they had known each other for a long time; maybe because she was familiar. Familiar?! John had never seen the girl in his life! But there was a certain aspect of hers...

"Fine!" The girl sighed, "Nice to meet you, John!" She put on a huge, fake smile and an outrageous posh, tea and scones accent. Scones like 'bones', like they say it at posh tea parties.

"Okay, okay, forget that. What's your name?" John resigned.

"Gabrielle," She replied.

"Oh …" John said. He was expecting something more … unique, like Gwen or something. Sherlock came back with three cups of tea. Gabrielle smiled.

"You sound surprised, John. Perhaps it's how normal the name is. Or perhaps you're referring to the tea. From what I can recall, Sherlock isn't the best housewife." Gabrielle said with a smirk at Sherlock.

"A thank you always does the trick, Gabrielle," Sherlock replied, placing the cup in her hands. John almost snorted. So the phrase 'thank you' _hadn't _been deleted.

"The trick to what Sherlock? The 250 types of tobacco ash?" Gabrielle retorted with a mocking smile. Sherlock sniffed in disdain.

"243-"

"Yes John; fortunately for me, my parents were not stoned when they decided my name. The same cannot be said for my brothers," At the last line, John was confused. Why randomly bring up her brothers? And why was she smirking at Sherlock, who was looking rather hurt?

Then, it hit. Of course! That same dark, curly hair. The same stance. The same annoying attitude. And the fact that she knew everything. It all added up. And it is true, what she said; seriously, Sherlock? Mycroft?

"Dear Christ!" John exclaimed.

"What?" Gabrielle asked.

"You're his _sister_?!" He shouted. Gabrielle gave him a look to say, "Oh, well done."

"John you are hurting my eardrums," Sherlock simply mentioned.

"Oh, well, ex-cuse me!" John said loudly, "I didn't even _know _you had a sister!" Then, he sighed, "You know what. I'm not going to … I'll just be here drinking tea if you need me,"

"Sherlock. I feel hurt for the lack of introduction," Gabrielle said with mock sadness. Sherlock did not reply.

"So … um … why are you here?" John asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. He also wanted to ask _'How long are you staying? Are you staying here? _But that seemed like too much, and he didn't want to make a bad first impression by asking too many questions.

"I am back from America. Yes, I will be staying here. I don't know for how long. And, by the way, I've been talking to you for the past five minutes; you've already made a first impression," Gabrielle replied, both to his spoken question and mental questions.

"Oh, so you do it too," John sighed.

"Do what?" Gabrielle asked with a mask of innocence.

"The mind-reading," John said.

"It is not mind-reading. It is simply mere observations," Gabrielle said as she continued to sip her tea. The link between her and Sherlock was definitely obvious now.

"So how were the States?" Sherlock asked.

"Boring. I worked with the CIA a bit. They're all stupid. And boring. They don't think. Most of them lower the IQ of the whole street whenever they open their mouth; and whenever they are in possession of food, they act as if they never will be again." Gabrielle remarked. Well she certainly didn't keep her opinions to herself.

"Come on Gabrielle. There must have been _something _that interested you in America," Sherlock said but he was smiling.

"Oh, yes. Their accents. I asked for some water three times and they didn't understand. I had to put on a stupid Texas accent just so they would understand that I didn't want a coke. So, anyway, I am back! It's been a while …"

"Did they find you?" Sherlock asked quietly. Gabrielle simply nodded. John didn't ask; he knew he wouldn't get an answer. And considering the sombre look on both of their faces, he didn't want to. The silence hung in the air.

"Um …" John was being very awkward indeed. And simply thinking about the situation being awkward, made it even more awkward. So John found it necessary to induce a conversation as soon as possible. Simultaneously with these thoughts of awkwardness, John realised that his earlier question had never been answered.

"You never did answer my question; why are you here?" John asked Gabrielle, who stared at him for a few moments, as if deciding whether she could tell him or not. A second after the question had been asked, John was already getting annoyed. For God's sake! She was going to stay in this bloody apartment with them for who knows how long and she wouldn't even tell him why?! Sherlock's parents were crazy to make more than one offspring.

"Let's just say that I ran into a bit of trouble," Gabrielle answered evasively.

"So I'm not to be trusted with the whole truth?" John asked.

Before Gabrielle could answer, the blaring sirens cut through the noises of the wind and reached the trio. Gabrielle jumped out of her seat to stare out of the window.

"I must bring you good luck, Sherlock," Gabrielle said, grinning widely. John sighed. Well it wasn't particularly good luck for the person who had just died.

"Yes, Gabrielle. You must," Sherlock replied, returning the grin, already grabbing his coat and scarf. Gabrielle did the same, swallowing the last of her tea in one, rapid gulp.

"Sherlock, you need to come. Supposed suicide," Lestrade appeared at the door frame.

"Will be there. Send the police cars away, will you? They're annoying," Sherlock replied. Lestrade nodded and ran down, his feet echoing against the wooden floor. Gabrielle punched the air and Sherlock high fived her. John had never seen him like this. Well, he had, but not with somebody else as crazy as him.

"John! You coming?" Gabrielle shouted as brother and sister ran down the steps like crazy and ecstatic five year olds rushing off to dinner. John sighed. He would never know whether he would be trustworthy in her eyes now. So he might as well go.

"Of course."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hope you liked it! I actually got the 'water mishap' from a friend of mine who went to America, so credit to her there. Thanks for reading and please review if you have the time, it's always great getting feedback :) **


	2. Some Abuse Their Right to Stupidity

**Gabrielle meets Donovan and Anderson. Dun dun duh. And it is not pretty, Dun dun duh. Second chapter! Hope you like it! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. You hear that genie in the bottle?**

They arrived at their destination a few minutes later. Gabrielle was practically jumping with excitement and leaped out of the black cab before either Sherlock or John could twitch a muscle.

"Hang the stockings and put up the decorations; it; is; Christmas! I hope this is an interesting case. I've had enough boring ones for a life time," Gabrielle said as they slid under the yellow barrier. John wondered what 'boring' was from her point of view.

"Oh, freak's here," A woman said as she glared at Sherlock.

"Ah, Donovan. How nice to see you too," Sherlock replied.

"As well as his loyal dog," She said, sneering at John, who was rolling his eyes. Gabrielle scrutinised her: obviously insecure; has probably been working in the police for a while-

"Oh, and a new one!" She said, glaring with distaste at Gabrielle, who raised a questioning eyebrow at Sherlock.

"Gabrielle, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Donovan, Gabrielle," Sherlock introduced. Donovan simply gave him a side glance.

"Look, let me give you some advice, Gabrielle," Donovan started. John sighed. He had already heard the 'advice' and he only hoped that Gabrielle had the wit of her brother to be able to deal with someone like Donovan. "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes." Gabrielle stared at her for a few moments. It was obvious she was trying not to laugh.

"Just tea for me thanks," Gabrielle said.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" Donovan asked, hands on hips. Meanwhile, Gabrielle's eyes flitted over her like a pianist's hands over the keys.

"Yes. I have a very good idea of who you are," Gabrielle said, then, catching Donovan's glare, added, "Oh! You want me to prove it? With pleasure!" Gabrielle grinned and clapped her hands together.

"Here we go," said Sherlock. John was confused. Unless …

"You have been working in the police force for the past six years. You're not happy with your job, but it's not like you want to go be a waitress somewhere so you stick it out. You're depressed, insecure, and the only way for you to feel happy without recreationally taking drugs is your affair," Gabrielle said.

"Affair? What is _wrong _with you?" Donovan glared.

"Have you told her about Donovan?" John asked in a surprised whisper to Sherlock.

"Not a word," Sherlock replied as he gazed at Gabrielle with … pride?

"Well firstly, you haven't even flinched to how I said you're insecure, you were immediately onto the part about the affair. Also, your hair hasn't been brushed this morning–" Gabrielle started.

"That's nothing to go on. There are days when I just don't brush my hair," Donovan interrupted.

"Please, you colour co-ordinate your skirt and bra – yes, your shirt _is _almost transparent; oh, I wonder why – of course you brush your hair every single day. You have rings under your eyes so you've obviously had a long night but your constant grin before seeing us proves that you didn't mind that. Oh, my.

"Your clothes have a trace of coffee, but you don't look very awake so that means you must have a coffee after work. So obviously, you've worn the same shirt two days in a row, which means you haven't had the opportunity or time to change it.

"And the moment I said 'affair' Anderson came over here. Hello there! How are you? Oh dear Christ!" Gabrielle said while smelling the air, "I said that, because if all of that explanation wasn't enough for your vacant little pea-sized brains, then the fact that your supposed 'friend with _no_ benefits' is wearing deodorant for women should seal the deal. Unless, of course, he's just coming out of the closet. In that case, Donovan, I suggest you clear out now, because judging by his hair and stance, it was about time too. Ah, deodorant. Sure; it won't let you down," Gabrielle winked.

"Oh and of course! Your knees," Here, Gabrielle gave a small laugh, "Well I wouldn't have thought you would like to be a housekeeper."

"What the hell has this got to do with anything?" Donovan asked.

"Well, your knees are scraped; and," Gabrielle put on a look of fake innocence, "Why else would you be scrubbing the floor?"

"Are you implying anything?" Anderson asked with indignation, while Donovan was lashing out.

"How _dare _you?" She screamed. Lestrade came to cool things down, but Gabrielle, unfortunately, did not realise that he was the one with the slightly elevated IQ.

"You, on the other hand, have been in the police force for a _very _long time. Oh and you really should cook yourself actual food. Ever heard of a frying pan?" Gabrielle asked.

"How–" Lestrade started.

"The rings around your eyes are probably constant, which means you never get enough sleep. Considering your confident stance when you're walking you have a pretty important job, so you've been here long enough to get a promotion. As for the ex-wife, you obviously-" John scoffed, "-live alone, you have a look of loneliness in your eyes and you've been wearing the same shirt for the past week. A picture of your kids is peaking out of your pocket, so a divorce. You stiffened when I mentioned the children; she has custody–"

"Gabrielle," Sherlock warned quietly. Lestrade's whole body was rigid, his mouth was wide open, but his eyes; they seemed so shocked it was pitiable.

"And your glare of distaste at–" Gabrielle continued.

"Gabrielle." Sherlock placed his hand on her arm to stop her.

"What?" She looked at him with confusion.

"He actually has an IQ that is slightly elevated," Sherlock said. Gabrielle knew that Lestrade must be a good friend – that's as close to a love declaration as Sherlock gets.

"Ah," Gabrielle said, nodding, "Right. Um ... Sorry."

"Anything else you wanted to say?" Lestrade's voice was rather croaky, as if his throat were very dry.

"Well actually, I was going to say that from your glance of distaste at Donovan and Anderson, the reason for the divorce was an affair–" Gabrielle stopped mid sentence as she realised her mistake, "I mean. No. I was not going to say anything. At all."

"Right," Lestrade said with a small smile.

"Did I get anything wrong?" Gabrielle asked with genuine curiosity.

"Timing, Gabrielle," Sherlock whispered to her. John snorted. He had been observing the whole situation from the angle of pure amazement, but these words brought him back to Earth.

"Yes, Sherlock, you're one to talk," John said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, John, I was talking. We talk, it's what we do …" Sherlock seemed genuinely confused, "What are you on about John?" John simply put his palm on his forehead with a sigh. Yes, Sherlock was certainly 'spectacularly ignorant', and not only about the solar system.

"That's enough chat girls, let's go in," Lestrade brought everyone back to the mission at hand, but with one more curious glance, he got side-tracked. He pulled Sherlock to the side before entering the house.

"Who is she, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked.

"No one," Sherlock waved it away.

"Well obviously I'm _someone _Sherlock, otherwise I wouldn't be here," Gabrielle said airily as she walked past the pair. Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed. When Lestrade didn't, he called back,

"Lestrade! I'm sure we could figure it out, but tell us where we're supposed to be going." Lestrade sighed and went after Sherlock and the girl before it was too chaotic to cure.

John caught up with Gabrielle.

"How on _earth _did you know that he lives alone? And why did you advise him about food and cooking?" John asked.

"Pot Noodle dust on his shirt," Gabrielle explained, or so she thought.

"What?" John asked. Gabrielle sighed; not that she wasn't used to having to explain everything she deduced, but that didn't mean it wasn't slightly annoying. But with John it was okay; firstly because he was used to this through Sherlock, and secondly because he wouldn't laugh at her.

"Multiple stains of Pot Noodle on his shirt. It has probably been the only thing on his loneliness diet ever since the divorce. Besides, I've lived alone for the past eight years; I've had my fair share of Pot Noodle," Gabrielle replied with a smile. John laughed at that.

Going into the house, they passed Donovan.

"Freak," She sneered at Gabrielle, who was very tempted to launch a fist into that face.

"You know, Sally always has the least original insults in the world," Here, Sherlock sighed, "Besides, I guess these boring, regular humans have the right to stupidity …"

Gabrielle stared after Donovan for a few moments.

"She abuses the right to stupidity."

**There is a direct and positive correlation between the amount of reviews I am given and the speed at which I update. Hint hint. **


	3. Think! It's Not Illegal Yet

** Gabrielle's point of view. The italics are when she's thinking, like in Sherlock when he thinks and it comes up on the screen. **

Think! It's not illegal.

As they went in, Gabrielle noticed the Claude Monet 'The Water Lily Pond', _old painting, new frame = original = rich. _

_So, death of the wife of one of the richest people in the country; the papers must be all over_ _it_. If only she could get her hands on a newspaper. Lestrade held his hands up in surrender as he followed Sherlock, John and her into the house. Ink. _Ink on his fingers. _No calluses; _not an artist. _Detective Inspector; _avid newspaper reader. _"Hey Lestrade – that _is _your name, right?" Gabrielle didn't stop for confirmation, "Can I see your newspaper?" She said, holding out her hand.

"My – how the hell did you know I had a newspaper?" Lestrade asked, putting his newspaper in her hand.

"It was obvious," Gabrielle replied simply, Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"She's even worse than Sherlock," Lestrade muttered beneath his breath. Gabrielle would have heard, but she was too busy looking at today's headline:

'**SUICIDE** **OF** **THE** **FAMOUS'** with the picture of the now dead woman.

_Original title, _she thought dryly, then threw back the newspaper at Lestrade, who fumbled around with the multiple, flapping pages. Sherlock and John were already inside and waiting for her, so she left him to it.

Gabrielle looked at the crime scene a little while Sherlock deduced the woman's whole life to John, _What a show off._ Then again, that's what the Holmes are best at.

"... unhappily married for thirty years ..." _Ah, the classic 'dirty outside, clean inside' ring gig. _Her eyes flicked around the room, from Chagall's 'Violin and the Goat' painting, _rich husband confirmed, _to the will on the table, _husband died_, with the reading glasses next to it, _two weeks _ago, to the little post it on the note on the board – _died of cancer. _She opened the drawer and found a diary. It had a cornered page – _appointment; important one at that too, _before she could flick to the page, something else caught her eyes. Pictures? Gabrielle frowned at that: they were black and white. There was only one recent photograph, _obviously not a daughter, so probably a niece. _A look of enlightenment flicked through her eyes and a split-second later her hawk-eyes were back on. _So, widow _and _dead children. Well there's a one way ticket to death._

Then, Gabrielle moved on to the body itself, looking around, oblivious to anything else. Coat is wet, _outside two or three hours ago; _dirt under shoes, _garden; _shoes are pumps, _estate garden; _umbrella not used, _didn't stay long._ _Conclusion: meeting with someone in the garden. But who? Maybe the one with who she was having an affair-_

Then, Anderson walked in, breaking her track of thought. Sherlock sighed dramatically whereas John simply pinched the bridge of his nose in anticipation of the flying insults about lowering IQs to come.

"It was obviously the niece who did it–" Anderson started, leaning against the doorway.

"If thinking was like having an affair, would you do it?" Gabrielle asked genuinely.

"Are you implying anything?–" Anderson started, his face going red.

"Thank you for the input," Gabrielle said sarcastically and slammed the door in his face. Sherlock, John and Lestrade were all staring at her; after all, this was déjà vu. "What?" She asked to their bewildered faces, "I felt my IQ dropping by the second when he was in here."

Sherlock recovered the quickest, although he was smiling slightly and continued to deduce the life story, whereas John and Lestrade took a bit more time.

Suddenly, Gabrielle walked back to the door; _footprints. _

"What?" Lestrade asked. Gabrielle looked up, confused.

"What are you looking at?" She asked defensively.

"You said 'footprints'," Lestrade specified. _I said that out loud? Hm. _Gabrielle frowned slightly then returned her work. She heard a far away voice complain about never getting answers, but then she was looking at the footprints: _not pumps – not dead woman. Size ten – man's footprint. Fancy shoes, someone with access to the house and with whom she was having an affair ... _Gabrielle eyes widened with enlightenment and she stood up suddenly and flicked through the diary scanning the pages until she found what she was looking for. She snapped it shut.

"... she's no longer in touch with her children and–" Sherlock was still showing off to John, and that was okay before, but not now that he was wrong and not now that they were done here.

"Wrong," Gabrielle finally turned around, with a sardonic smile on her face. After all, it wasn't every day you saw the great Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, wrong.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow as he got over himself.

"Deaf _and _wrong? My, my Mr. Holmes, you must be losing your touch," Gabrielle smirked, "Her children are dead. Look at the pictures: no recent ones; they're all black and white. The only recent one is the _niece_," she explained. Sherlock snapped his head to the table with the pictures on it.

"Yes, no recent ones as you put it. They're _not_ dead. She's been having an affair for twenty years," Sherlock said with a look at Gabrielle. It clearly said, '_My _territory. Do not trespass'.

"Yes, because the affair explains everything about her children, of course!" John muttered and sighed.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you're trying to persuade yourself that her children aren't dead so that she 'died in happiness'. But I do know better: Holmes and sentiment don't mix," she replied to Sherlock while shaking her head, replying to both his look and his statement; his stupid statement at that, "Still wrong."

"Oh, really?" Sherlock tilted his head slightly.

"Definitely so," Gabrielle said as she stood in front of him and crossed her arms, holding her ground. Suddenly, Sherlock leaned back and breathed out a little with a smile. "Has your IQ lowered without me to challenge you? You're much slower," Gabrielle added when she noticed this. John and Lestrade were now looking at the exchange with wide eyes. Then Lestrade shook his head.

"Okay, I don't know who you are, but stop bickering because we've only got a minute left," Lestrade interrupted.

"Good job I don't need that minute," Gabrielle said with a brief smile.

"So who did it?" Lestrade asked.

"Sherlock, fill him in once you're over the fact that I am right ... and you're wrong," Gabrielle then walked out, pleased with the exit. Barely a minute later, there was a commotion.

"Sherlock! This is a police investigation and a crime scene! Behave your own age!" Gabrielle heard Lestrade shouting at him, then storming out, "Sherlock is being a five year old. Tell me what you got," He ordered.

"It's actually 'what you _have _got'," Gabrielle said with a nod. Lestrade closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, "The count-to-ten trick doesn't work. Well, it has been a pleasure meeting you, Detective Inspector. I'll be off now," Gabrielle said as Sherlock and John came out; it seemed that John was scolding Sherlock, _obviously about his behaviour judging by his right eye. _

"So, _who _are you?" Lestrade asked. Gabrielle looked at him: slight hesitation before 'who', _not confident in what he's about to say; _confident stance earlier, now slumped, _self-conscious; _hand scratching the back of his head, _embarrassed; _staring at the ground; _avoiding eye contact. In conclusion, he wants to know _what _I am. _

"And by that you mean, 'what'," Gabrielle told him. She really did mean it as a question at first, but what was the point in asking if she already knew she was right? And besides, Lestrade's shocked face was confirmation of her deductions.

"Yeah, okay, _what _are you?" Lestrade asked, slightly exasperated.

"I'm annoying and I'm brilliant; deduce away," Gabrielle said with a smirk after looking at Sherlock. Then, Lestrade was about to ask another question.

"The butler, Detective Inspector," Gabrielle said before Lestrade could open his mouth.

"The – the butler?" Lestrade, confused as ever.

"Yes, did you not hear me the first time?" Gabrielle asked.

"He has a clear alibi! With a witness!" Lestrade said.

"I assume the witness was the gardener?" A rhetorical question since she did not stop for an answer, "Yes, a witness with minimal income that would be as malleable as gum in terms of conviction and morale if money had anything to do with it. Everybody lies," she ended. Lestrade tried to say something, but no words came out.

"Afternoon," Gabrielle said with a nod and a smile.

And so, Sherlock, John and Gabrielle, the soon to be terrific, or rather, terrible, trio, departed the crime scene.


	4. Common Sense is Not so Common

**A/N I'm really sorry; I know that updates are really irregular. I'm trying to write as much as I can but I've got exams coming up. I'm really sorry - please don't kill me :3 **

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock, nor do I own anything. You hear that genie in the bottle? **

* * *

><p><strong>Common Sense is Not so Common<strong>

There was a silence in the taxi as Sherlock glared at Gabrielle, who pretended nothing was wrong and John stared at the pair in confusion. Suddenly, Gabrielle rolled her eyes and turned to Sherlock.

"Come on, let it all out, Sherly," Gabrielle said with a small smile; it had been a while since she had used her nickname for him. She took pride in the fact that she was the only one who would not be diminished to be a puddle due to Sherlock's death glare whenever anyone endeavoured to give him a nickname.

"You didn't have to ... to," Sherlock was at a loss for words.

"Steal your thunder?" John offered.

"Exactly! You have stolen my thunder, Gabrielle," Sherlock said, crossing his arms, and then he stared at John, "How can you possibly steal thunder?"

"It's a saying, Sherlock. Don't delve into the details of the specific words used," John explained.

"To answer your question, I was merely attempting to show all the police what snobbish idiots they were. Pardon me, dear brother," Gabrielle mocked. Sherlock kept his mouth shut.

"Right," John cleared his throat a couple of times to prevent himself from laughing; sibling rivalry!_ Sherlock _and sibling rivalry! This was just too much. He realised it wasn't going to work so he changed the subject, "So, Gabrielle ... how did you figure it out?" Gabrielle narrowed her eyes momentarily because John was still smiling slightly.

"You're not taking the piss are you?" She asked with suspicious eyes.

"No, I'm not!" John reassured.

"Well there were the things that Sherlock explained while showing off, like the fact that the victim was unhappily married for thirty years. The husband, very rich at that too, had obviously died two weeks ago and of lung cancer. So she was a widow and no living relatives – her children died – except for a niece. She had an important appointment with the butler and went to see him but he stood her up. The butler then came into the study to put a drink on the table that she would, at a later time drink and voila. Deed, done."

"But _how _can you possibly know all of that?" John asked. Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but Gabrielle interrupted.

"No way! He asked _me_!"Gabrielle cut through childishly, "First off, the 'dirty outside, clean inside' ring gig; _classic_, you see it in almost every affair. Then the fact that her husband is rich, well obviously the papers were all over it, but the fact that they have their own estate garden the size of a park and original Monet paintings sort of seals the deal. The will on the table in the study shows that her husband died, and the reading glasses next to it implies an urgency, meaning that the will had to be probated soon; so, day of death for the husband: two weeks, three weeks tops. I would say that it's lung cancer because of the cigarette box in the bin, but that's a bit of a shot in the dark. Next up is so simple even _you _could get it – don't look at me like that, it's a compliment ... in a way – the cornered page in her diary, visibly something important. No one else went into the study except her, so the diary was hidden, which means that there's something there that she wouldn't want someone to know. Her coat was wet, she had been out in the rain two or three hours ago judging by the dampness. The dirt under her shoes means she was in a garden; and her pumps mean that it was the estate garden and that she wasn't planning on staying a long time; the dry umbrella proves that. The dry umbrella could also mean that there was strong wind but that wouldn't be possible because we have already established that she was in the estate garden. So who was she meeting up with? Drugs dealer? Doubt it. Priest? Highly unlikely. Lover? Perhaps. Then there's the footprints. Ah, yes. The footprints; size ten, so a man's footprint, and fancy shoes. They were outside the study so someone with access to the house; because really, it would be impossible to break in there. It's practically Fort Knox. So, fancy shoes, a man, someone with access to the house. Who else but the butler? Unless you think that it was the resurrected husband; myself, I went with the cliché, poison in the drink, butler theory." Gabrielle ended, slightly panting. John put his head in his hands and started laughing. Both Sherlock and Gabrielle snapped their heads to him.

"What?" They demanded at the same time. John looked at them again and started laughing once more.

"Dear Christ, there's two of them."

* * *

><p><strong>I hope that wasn't horrible deducing. Please review :3 I promise to have Gabrielle evolving as not just a female version of Sherlock soon. <strong>


	5. When Do You Think She'll Realise That?

**Hi! Sorry for the wait - end of year exams can kill. I know. In this chapter, you see the slight difference between Sherlock and Gabrielle. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock nor anything. Why, God, why? **

* * *

><p>'<strong>When do you think she'll realise that-?'<strong>

* * *

><p>It was a week later, when John discovered that it was, in fact, possible for adults to behave like five year olds. He was calmly reading the newspaper – something about someone, somewhere in the world – Sherlock seemed to be on his website, and Gabrielle was doing absolutely nothing.<p>

"Sherlock ..." Gabrielle asked, sprawled on the couch in the most un-lady like manner; so much for being raised in the Holmes household. She received no answer.

"Sherlock?" She attempted.

"Sherlock," Gabrielle whined, then sighed. Her brother was fixated on the computer screen and would remain so for a long time. So she decided to go into attack mode.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock! Hey, Sherly! Sherly! Sherlock! My brother! Sherlock! Mi fratello! My bro! Sherlock! Sherlock! Mon frère! Sherlock! Sherly! _Shirley Temple_!"

"What?" Sherlock snapped his head to Gabrielle, more than irritated.

"...I'm bored," Gabrielle complained. Sherlock glared at her for a very long time, opening his mouth a few times, but then simply sighed and resumed his work. After a few moments, Sherlock lifted up a corner of his mouth in a smile and said,

"Tell you what, Gabby, if you can find my gun, I'll let you fire a few rounds. That ought to keep you occupied for a while, considering even _I _don't know where John hid it."

"No! Most definitely not! Not _any _of you will be going _anywhere _near that gun!" John found his first speaking part in the conversation to be of that of scolding the siblings, who both wheeled around to him and put on their best pleading faces, "It's a 'no'!"

"No need to ground me, _mother, _I'm going to my bedroom!" Gabrielle got off the couch with dignity and strolled down the corridor.

"When do you think she'll realise that–" John started.

"Oh, in a few seconds or so," Sherlock replied without looking away from the screen. Sherlock's hypothesis turned out to be correct (as usual); Gabrielle was back in the living room in a matter of seconds. "I thought you were going to your room, Miss Holmes."

"I don't _have _a room. I have a _couch_," Gabrielle said, collapsing onto the sofa.

"And whose fault is that–"Sherlock started.

"Yes, brother dear, I declined your gallant offer. I remember the course of my actions and words," Gabrielle interrupted. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she got bored again, "Is it always this _boring _when you don't have a case?"

"Yes, only Sherlock is usually in your position," John replied, flicking to the next page in the boring newspaper.

"I'm going to get a glass of water," Gabrielle said, rolling off the couch.

"When do you think she'll realise that–" John started.

"Soon enough," Sherlock interrupted, typing so furiously fast on the keyboard that John would be surprised if the keys survived the minute.

"_Where the hell are all the glasses_?" Gabrielle screamed. John let out a small 'ah' of enlightenment.

"I used them for an experiment," Sherlock replied, "Do you mind?" He turned to her with a smirk on his face.

"Yes, I bloody mind! Are we supposed to drink in mugs now?" Gabrielle screeched.

"Mugs? Where? Are we having tea?" John had lifted his head up from his newspaper.

"Oh, stop it with your obsession with tea. It's a drink, not a girlfriend, which I heard you have had many of," Gabrielle snapped from the kitchen; this meant that she was shouting, and so this in turn meant that the whole neighbourhood may have been an audience. Fabulous.

"Really, Sherlock? You had to tell her?" John wheeled around to Sherlock, who was still as impassive as ever.

"It popped up in the family conversation," Sherlock replied. John cringed slightly; the Holmes family talked about him? What did they talk about? It felt like a vast invasion to his privacy.

"While you two are having the merry conversation of a couple, I will now start a search for food. Is there some of that here?" Gabrielle didn't wait for an answer.

"When do you think she'll realise that-?" John started.

"Hopefully not for a while," Sherlock said then winced as he heard more screaming.

"_No more plates?_" Gabrielle opened the fridge (the current habitat of a foot) and slammed it shut, "Not even _food_?" She opened all cupboards and slammed them shut when there was no result.

"Your sister calls you Shirley Temple?" John asked Sherlock with a smile.

"That's all you were able to glean about her in the past minutes?" Sherlock evaded the question, not wanting to answer for obvious reasons.

"You're not answering my question," John reprimanded.

"..."

"Does she really call you Shirley Temple?" John repeated. Sherlock waited for a few moments before sighing and replying:

"Unfortunately, yes."

When Gabrielle had finished, John spoke up again.

"So you're oblivious to the fact that there's a foot, and more concerned about the absence of food?" John asked incredulously.

"I grew up with Sherlock, of course I'm immune," Gabrielle retorted, and that made John think a bit. What would it have been like to be raised with Sherlock Holmes? John shuddered at the thought.

"We're out. Can you get some?" Sherlock asked calmly.

"No! If anyone does the food shopping, it's _you_! Considering you're always the one using it for your damn experiments!" Gabrielle shouted, indicating the clutter of test tubes and solutions on the kitchen table. Accidentally, she knocked one of them over with her wide gesture. Everybody stared at the smoke rising from the broken test tube for a few moments.

"I am _not _picking that up," said Gabrielle, pointing to it.

"Gabrielle that was an important experiment," Sherlock said slowly, carefully placing every single word.

"And what exactly would it have told you? The atomic structure of cocaine? Or is it heroin that's hip now?" Gabrielle sneered, full of spite. She knew it was low, but when the anger started to rise in her, it metamorphosed into a vast, untameable ocean. Her mouth kept on talking even if her brain willed her not to. It wasn't a wonder that nobody really liked the children of the Holmes family. They were all geniuses, but Mycroft was distant, Sherlock was, well, Sherlock (a high-functioning sociopath as he called himself) and Gabrielle couldn't control her temper and ended up screaming insults.

"Well at least I am not conducting experiments with unattainable answers due to the fact that they are testing cosmology," Sherlock retorted, anger flashing in his eyes. John stared between the pair; the sibling rivalry in the cab had been nothing compared to the thunderstorm that was raging now. Gabrielle gave a sour laugh.

"Excuse me, dear brother, for having knowledge of my surroundings," Gabrielle mocked. Sherlock somehow sensed that this did not only apply to the solar system, and it struck deep down in him, somewhere usually unattainable to anyone. "I'm going out!" Gabrielle called as she turned on her heel, fetching her coat.

"Where?" John asked.

"Where people _have glasses and food!_" Gabrielle yelled, then grabbed her coat and put it on. Simultaneously, she slipped and fell back onto the floor. It didn't seem so serious – in fact it was rather funny – until they realised she had fallen on the shards of the destroyed test tube and spilled chemicals.

* * *

><p><strong>So! What do you think? Hope you're still liking the story and Gabrielle. Please review; I will love you forever. <strong>


	6. My Deepest Condolences

**A/N I am so utterly sorry for the delay. It's been a couple months already and I feel absolutely horrid, truly. I had to catch up on a few things in life which ended up taking a lot of time. I really am going to try my hardest to work on this story - the thing is, I'm starting my GCSE course, which means that I'll be getting a lot more work, but I promise that I'll do my best for all of you. You have been absolutely brilliant during my hiatus and thank you so much for the continuing support. It really helped me get back on track. Well anyway, forgive my rambling, here's the new chapter! **

**My Deepest Condolences**

Previously...

_Simultaneously, she slipped and fell back onto the floor. It didn't seem so serious – in fact it was rather funny – until they realised she had fallen on the shards of the destroyed test tube and spilled chemicals... _

There was complete silence for a few moments, then pandemonium. Sherlock rushed to the unconscious girl; she had probably blanked out from the pain. For the first time, he had no idea what to do as he stared at her, the blood oozing from the wounds.

John hurried to get his first aid kit, hoping it was somewhere easily accessible. Seconds count. However, what with the running and the stress, his leg and shoulder began to ache. He fumbled through the drawers; slammed them shut again. His hands were beginning to tremble.

"_John! Help!" The firing guns surrounded him. The moans of pain surrounded him. He was surrounded by suffering, pain and death. He was trapped. _

He took a shaky breath and shook his head vigorously.

"Mrs. Hudson!"

He tumbled down the steps, and the door nearly flew from its hinges as he crashed into Mrs. Hudson's apartment.

"Whatever is the matter dearie-?"

"First-aid kit!" He simply yelled and grabbed the one hanging from the door. His breaths came out as unsteady pants. He gripped the railing and grunted, urging his leg on. Not now. He couldn't stop. Not now. He couldn't give up. He couldn't let her down. But his leg... He collapsed on the steps, gritting his teeth.

A scream. John's head snapped up. Adrenaline pumped around his body, fuelling him as he ran up the steps. The danger made him forget about the pain. As it always did.

"Gabby, wake up. Wake up. It's not hard. You've just had a bit of a fall. That's it. Just a fall. That's all it was." Gabrielle weakly opened her eyes to the fuzzy voice of her worried brother. Worried? Caring? What was wrong with him? The light hit her eyes sharply, blinding her. She shut her eyes again.

"Take out the shards, Sherlock!" A voice ordered. A pair of hands shook her shoulders roughly. "Come on, Gabrielle! You're not a weak person! Don't give up! Don't you give up," The hands shook her again. Her hands felt numb. Everything was numb.

"Sherlock! Take out the bloody shards!"

A flash of red pierced through the blinding white as she screamed in agony. Again, and again. An invisible knife slashed at her, stabbed her. Again and again.

Torture. That must be what was happening to her.

"What do you want?! I'll give it to you, I promise!" Gabrielle screeched, trying to rid her hand of the flames of pain licking away at it.

"Stop moving Gabby! We need to do this!" Sherlock's voice commanded.

"Gabrielle, bite on this, it'll help!"

A pencil was jammed between her teeth and she bit down on it, hard enough to taste the graphite. Rudimentary as it was, it helped.

"Take out the other shards, Sherlock!"

"That is currently exactly what I'm trying to achieve!" He yelled angrily. The pain rang out across her body, making her shudder. She felt herself go limp.

"No! Stay with us, Gabrielle! Stay with us!"

Her jaw slacked.

"Oh, dear!"

The pencil rolled out of her mouth.

"Gabby!"

Everything went white as she lost her grip on the world.

* * *

><p>Gabrielle bolted up from her place on the couch. A decor of bloodied mountains of tissues surrounded her. She grabbed a bottle of water and gulped the contents down, the liquid washing away the pain in her cracked throat which was hoarse from all her screaming.<p>

She looked down at her hands: bandaged and clean. Nothing like the maimed horror they were before.

"Sherlock! Why can't you just accept that this was your fault?!" A voice yelled.

"What do you mean it was my fault? I'm not the one who fell down!" Her brother shouted back.

"Well it's _you _who put acid in those test tubes!"

Acid?! Gabrielle sighed. It all made sense: the sheer pain, the worry of her brother, the _guilt_.

"Hello, there," She croaked, leaning on the wall.

"Up and around again–" John started.

"Always one to state the obvious," interrupted Sherlock, with a slightly disdainful sniff.

"How are you?" The former ignored the latter.

"I'm okay. I appreciate the bandage," She thanked and gave a small smile.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" John scolded.

"Well I did fall into a pile of broken glass and acid," Gabrielle shrugged it off. "I assume that the lady was Mrs. Hudson? I couldn't really see that well. Then again, who else would say 'Oh dear' when I was about to black out?"

"You assumed correctly," Sherlock stated. Gabrielle nodded tersely.

"Are you two going to apologise?" John stared between the two, crossing his arms expectantly.

"Why would I–" Gabrielle started indignantly then was silenced by John's glare. She sighed, "I am deeply sorry for your terrible loss; my most sincere condolences for your wasted experiment and test tubes."

"And I express my deepest condolences for the skin cells on the upper layers of your hand," Sherlock replied with a small nod. John looked between the two but then realised that this was all he was going to get out of them.

"That was the weirdest apology I've ever heard but bloody hell, it'll do." John exhaled and walked out of the kitchen. Suddenly, he came back,

"Oh, and you're idiots. Both of you!" He reproached. The siblings shared a look of surprise.

"We were rather under the impression that we were geniuses," Sherlock replied with a smile.

"Yeah, don't look too happy about that. There's a thin line between being a genius and being insane. You should remember that; it might deflate your brains slightly."

"Ah, yes, but the difference between the two is that being a genius has its limits," Gabrielle retorted with a smirk.

John shook his head and walked out again. It really shouldn't have shocked him. Barely a few hours after she had escaped serious injury and perhaps even a possible coma and the two were both as insufferable as ever. Unbelievable. They were _unbelievable_.

**A/N Hope you liked it! I'll be back as soon as I can. Unfortunately, I can't promise any fixed time for when I post a new chapter, I'll just post it when I finish. Thank you so much for the continuing support again :3 **


	7. Florida

**7. Florida**

"Oh, dearie, it's just so wonderful to see you again! How's the hand?" Mrs. Hudson was fussing over the only girl in the house.

"It's _fine_, Mrs. Hudson, really!" Gabrielle reassured for the fifth time, starting to become more than slightly exasperated.

"Oh, well okay, if you say so. You know, I still have those herbal soothers for my hip; if you want some I can just nip out and get them from my flat. You just give me a call and I'll get you some. Want a cuppa?" The lady asked sweetly and Gabrielle sighed.

"That would be wonderful, Mrs. Hudson, thank you," She replied with a relieved smile. At least she wasn't still enquiring about the state of her hand any longer.

"But remember," She started, shaking her index finger slightly.

"Not your housekeeper," Gabrielle said at the same time as her, "I know, Mrs. Hudson." She added with a smile. The mother-like figure beamed at her and shuffled out of the living room to the kitchen.

"Has she always said that then?" John asked, curious.

"You mean, 'not your housekeeper'?" Gabrielle said, and as he nodded, explained, "Pretty much. At least, as long as I've known her."

"And how long has that been?" John enquired.

"My, my, someone's being rather inquisitive today. What's with the interrogation?" Gabrielle's eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"I asked my question first—"

"And I've already answered one of yours; I think I'm entitled to one." Gabrielle interrupted with a raised eyebrow.

"Fine then," John shifted in his seat slightly, "I'm trying to socialise. It's this thing that people do."

"I guess that's a good enough reason," Gabrielle shrugged. "We met in Florida."

"Florida? You mean the case where Sherlock helped Mrs. Hudson with her husband?" John's eyes widened. "He never–"

"Mentioned me? Typical Sherlock," Gabrielle muttered with a huff, "Didn't even bother to mention _I _was there. Not when I did most of the bloody work."

"Calm down, Gabby," Sherlock said, gracefully placing himself on the couch next to her, "I had to make an impression."

"You're insufferable. Absolutely intolerable. You know that?" Gabrielle crossed her arms then added with a sigh, "Of course you do."

"I sense the beginning of a tantrum." Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"A tantrum?! I'm not five!" Gabrielle said indignantly.

"Evidence proves otherwise," Sherlock argued. The sister was silenced, but fuming.

"Cuppa's ready, Gabrielle!" Mrs. Hudson scuffled back in, bringing with her a steaming cup of tea.

"You are a goddess, Mrs. Hudson," Gabrielle's face instantly changed from a scowl to a smile.

"Oh, Gabrielle," Mrs. Hudson waved the compliment away with a blushing smile. "Tell me if you want those herbal soothers, okay darling? So wonderful to see you! Bye-bye!" Her voice faded away as she walked down the steps.

"You could have such a sweet demeanour with me. It would be gratifying," Sherlock stated thoughtfully a few moments later.

"What goes around comes around, Sherlock," John reminded him.

"Oh, that idiotic saying again," Sherlock huffed and John smirked slightly. Gabrielle cleared her throat.

"You still have your violin, Sherlock," Gabrielle stated.

"Naturally," the brother confirmed.

"How about we compose something? It always helped pass the time; I'm sure we'll have thought up of a couple of pieces by the time we find a case." Sherlock raised his eyebrows then left the room.

"And has he always done that?" John asked. "Leave the room without any explanation whatsoever?"

"He's going to get his violin; wasn't that obvious?" Gabrielle stared blankly at John then gave a short laugh. "How do you survive being so stupid?" She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes and pacing her chin on her crossed hands, as if studying him.

"Oh, thank you," John merely said, flicking the page of the Times.

"You're really quite tolerable, aren't you?" Gabrielle finally remarked after a few moments, leaning back on the sofa.

"I have to be," John shrugged, looking intently at an article on the page and raising his eyebrows ever slightly. "To deal with your older brother."

"So you do," she agreed with a smile. John looked up a few times from the page and opened his mouth but closed it again. "Go on." John looked up at her words then his curiosity finally got the better of him.

"You compose together?!" He asked, flinging the newspaper onto the table next to him.

"Yes," she seemed surprised and paused for a few moments, "That was your question?"

"It was. I just couldn't believe you two would be doing such a docile activity."

"You presumed that we chased after criminals in our early teens?" Gabrielle asked with a glint in her eye. "Because that was most definitely not the case."

"Oh, really?" John asked with a raised eyebrow. So yes, maybe he _had _thought that the two were fighting crime since they could toddle around. He had tried not to bear too much thought to it.

"Really. Sherlock was not composed of a brave demeanour at a younger age," she explained with a smile.

"Oh, really?" John was hooked. But perhaps only because he knew Sherlock was calmly leaning on the wall behind Gabrielle.

"Most definitely. The house was far too big for his liking, for one; and I remember often being woken up in the middle of the night to accompany him to the lavatory," Gabrielle sounded exasperated at the memory. "And then, this other time—"

"I think that's quite enough anecdotes for one day," Sherlock remarked from behind her and she turned around, seeming not the least bit surprised.

"But I didn't even get to the origin of Shirley Temple—"

"I _really _think that's quite enough," Sherlock interrupted. There was a pause for a few moments as Gabrielle stared at the violin in Sherlock's hands. John narrowed his eyes; what where they on about? Was the violin some form of a family heirloom?

"I'm rather astounded you still have that Shirley," she finally said, then shook her head, "Well then what are we waiting for? Not the boredom to strike again hopefully."

Suddenly, Sherlock snapped his head up. A phone vibrated faintly in the room.

"Not mine," John immediately said and Gabrielle sighed,

"Of course it isn't," Gabrielle marched to the couch and retrieved it from underneath the cushions. "Hello? This is Andrea, who is this?"

"Why can't she just pick up like a normal person and say her real name?" John asked, bewildered.

"CIA, John," Sherlock merely said.

"_So kind of you to pick up, Gabrielle. Let's have a little chat; just heart to heart. I suggest you comply with my wishes..."_

Her eyes widened and she turned away from Sherlock and John.

"Of course Amelia!" She took the phone off her ear and excused herself from the living room. Out in the corridor, she carefully placed the phone back. "What exactly did you disturb me for?"

"_There's something I want..." The voice on the other line whispered. _

"And may I ask what that is?" Gabrielle asked, not knowing that the next word would haunt her, speak to her in her nightmares.

"_You." _

"You should refrain from saying that," Gabrielle tried to ignore the shaking in her voice, "People may get the wrong idea."

"_How adorable of you. To think I can't see right through you. And how naive of you, to think that I would never find you." _Gabrielle's breath hitched in her throat. _"Oh, yes, Gabrielle. Anybody can catch a plane, you know. Thought you were so clever with your little escapade to England where your big brothers could help you?"_

"I think you missed the subject of the sentence at the beginning there," Gabrielle remarked. Trying to put on a brave face; it was pointless. The tremors running through her hands gave her away. The voice gave a brief, cold and sinister laugh.

"_I had forgotten your witty demeanour. Meet me at Madame Tussauds in about... let's say twenty minutes? Ten for you to make up your mind, and ten for you to walk here; I think that's rather reasonable."_

"And why would I do that?" Gabrielle asked, her voice sharp and cold.

"_You mean, meet me here? Well I guess that in this instance, old brother Crofty was right all along. Caring isn't an advantage. Didn't he always say that to you? How about you take a look inside?" _

She took a breath and quietly peeked through the door, to be greeted with the flashing red light of a laser on the wall. The laser that signified a sniper trained on the inhabitants of 221B, ready to fire at the simplest order.

"I'll be there in ten."

"That was an old friend, Amelia," Gabrielle explained, coming back into the living room. Her hands starting shaking slightly and she forced herself to stop, knowing her brother would be watching her every move. She curled her hands around her phone to stop the trembling. "She's back in town and wanted to see me. I'll be back in a few hours." She paused for a few seconds then seemed to force herself to turn around, almost robotically. "Goodbye!" Gabrielle shut the door behind her.

A few moments after the door had shut, Sherlock grabbed his coat. John saw and widened his eyes,

"Sherlock, you can't be serious. I know she's your little sister and everything but you can't go about stalking her!" He reasoned.

"John, open up your eyes a little; she's in danger." Sherlock told him.

"Sherlock," John started. "She's not going to die, really. She's meeting up with an old friend—"

"You really think that's what it is? Are you that foolish?" Sherlock swivelled around to face John fiercely, "Are you telling me you didn't hear the trembling in her voice, didn't see her hand curling around her phone in an attempt to calm her shaking fingers, the fact that she actually explained what she was going out for?" John stood his ground as Sherlock leaned over him, "And are you actually telling me that you didn't see that flash of red?" John's eyes widened. "They're after her." John was about to take a step back but Sherlock grabbed his arm, "Don't."

"What?!" John tried to struggle away.

"John if they see you looking mildly distressed they'll assume we know about Gabrielle and might very well shoot us here and now; I suggest you try to keep still and calm." Sherlock let go of his arm and put on his coat.

"And who's 'they' exactly?" John ventured.

"I don't know!" Sherlock said angrily, already half-way down the steps.

"Sherlock Holmes." John sighed. "Never really was one for detailed plans."

**A/N: I hope you liked this chapter ^^ The next chapter should be out next weekend. Until then, arrivederci! ~ **


	8. Suggestions

**8. Suggestions**

Gabrielle seated herself on a bench next to Madame Tussauds. Naturally, the queue was longer than ever, on a weekend during the holidays. She failed to understand the point of the wax museum, and had demanded answers from her brothers many times; they didn't understand it either. Madame Tussauds was one of the few unsolvable enigmas to the Holmes.

"Admiring the view?" A man came to sit beside her. Her hand curled around the gun in her pocket ever so slightly.

"Not the best I've ever seen," replied Gabrielle with a taut smile. She quickly got exasperated of the small talk. For once, she couldn't figure it out and that annoyed her more than anything. Gabrielle wanted answers, and she wanted them now. "You didn't call me to have small talk about the view. So why?" She demanded, turning to the man next to her.

"Surely you remember our last encounter?" The man's eyes narrowed.

"Vaguely. I thought it had resulted in your death." Gabrielle said, frowning slightly.

"Obviously not."

"How?" Gabrielle asked.

"That's my secret." The man replied. "Now, why don't we go for a walk?"

"I don't feel like it," Gabrielle replied, rejecting the man's extended hand.

"I really suggest you do so." At that moment, another man came up behind her. She felt the harsh end of a gun pointed in her back and sucked in a breath.

"A walk sounds wonderful," Gabrielle sighed and got up.

"Perfect." At that moment, a luxurious, sleek BMW rolled to a stop in front of her.

"Absolutely inconspicuous." She raised an eyebrow at the ostentatious car.

"Get in the car," He ordered. Gabrielle stood her ground.

"I thought we were going for a walk." She said steadily, feet remaining planted on the ground.

"I really suggest you get in the car."

"You seem to be suggesting a lot of things lately."

"Really, for someone with a gun held to their back, you're not the most polite." Gabrielle heard the cock of the hammer on the gun behind her and froze. "So; let me recap. Do you want to do this the easy way or the 'I tell my man to fire his gun and your brains will be all over the car' way? I really don't want to wash my car; again." With that, Gabrielle was no short of shoved into the car.

As the BMW rolled away, Gabrielle took another glance at the queue. The fact that she had even come was another enigma. John had called her intolerable and insufferable; she doubted that she would still be that way when they were done with her. That is, if she were still alive. Suddenly, a fist slammed into the side of her head and she crumpled in her seat, unconscious. Her last thought was that of curiosity; would she ever see the light again? It wasn't that she was scared; it was simply that she was resigned.

* * *

><p>"Of course it's your 'division'! How can your impossibly dull brain not realise this is important?" Sherlock all but yelled at Lestrade, who sighed.<p>

"Look, Sherlock, I wish I could help, I really did; but I've got a case right now," Lestrade attempted to pacify the raging man.

"All we're asking for is a little help," John asked Lestrade. Sherlock snapped his head to John.

"Help? We're not asking for help," He sneered the word. "Well it's wonderful to know I can count on you, Lestrade." The Detective Inspector sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock!" He yelled at the retreating man. John hung back for a few moments.

"You know he... doesn't usually show this much emotion. Just think about what she means to him," John said before nodding at Lestrade, who exhaled in exasperation and put his hands in his face.

"Donovan, get out of the way," Sherlock said angrily at the woman who was blocking the doorway.

"Well what's got your knickers in a twist?" She retorted with a raised eyebrow.

"Donovan, not now; his sister's gone missing." John explained. Donovan snorted slightly.

"And I'm sure everybody is jumping up and down to go get her." She said sarcastically. "You know, it's funny; cases are usually so much fun for you. I guess it's not so funny anymore."

"Donovan, I would suggest you shut up. Everybody in the room becomes stupider when you open your mouth. Oh, and what a wonderful job you have; do you want to keep it?" Donovan's eyes widened.

"Is that a threat, freak?" She snarled.

"It's not a threat, it's a fact." Sherlock retorted. Having Mycroft as a brother had its uses. "I think it's high time we depart, John." And with that, the pair walked out of Scotland Yard on a quest to find Gabrielle Holmes. Because if nobody wanted to help them, then they would do it on their own.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :3 I would love to know your what you think about it - love or hate - so please review! Until this weekend~**


	9. The Five Steps

**9. The Five Steps**

"So, Gabrielle. You know what you did." The man from the park, introduced as Romeo – probably false information – said to Gabrielle as he sat across from her in an interrogation room, chin placed over his crossed hands.

"Naturally. Although I fail to comprehend what you want," Gabrielle replied, staring steadily into the eyes of the man who would probably cause her great pain.

"How about you take a guess?" Romeo suggested. Gabrielle knew she had no choice but to answer.

"Revenge seems plausible. I did kill one of you henchmen."

"Henchmen?" Romeo snorted. "I'd like you to know that we are a... family business, so to speak." His eyes darkened. "That was my brother you killed." Gabrielle smiled tightly as her stomach clenched inside.

"I'm so sorry; I should have brought flowers." Romeo tilted his head back and chuckled slightly.

"My, my, even in the face of death you manage to find the bravado to be an insolent idiot."

"Face of death? How ambitious of you." Gabrielle replied tersely, swallowing away the lump in her throat with a perfectly calm face. Romeo stood up and started walking around. As he did so, Gabrielle suddenly saw the phone out of the corner of her eye. The quicker, the better, she figured. She lunged for it and quickly typed in a message to send to Sherlock.

The phone clattered to the floor, Gabrielle writhing in pain and clutching her maimed arm next to it. The knife was stuck in her shoulder blade to the hilt.

"You should have told me you wanted to say goodbye; I might have let you," Romeo whispered as he twisted the knife in her arm. White hot pain spiked through her as she struggled to keep the tears in. Her own blood spilt over her hands. "Unfortunately for you, I'm afraid I won't let you have that luxury anymore." He typed in a few more words and sent the text.

Romeo seemed to think something through for a moment before curling the knife into her shoulder once more and twisting it to get the blade out. He wiped the blade on his coat. "I'm afraid this is goodbye, Gabrielle. I hope to see you in hell, burning along with the rest of those murderers."

"How ironic of you," Gabrielle gritted her teeth and growled out. Romeo chuckled slightly.

"You're the one dying." And with that, he walked away.

_They got me. I'm sorry. I don't know. I must be losing my touch. Goodbye shirley temple. _

The message greeted Sherlock's shocked eyes as he unlocked his phone. His hand trembled ever so slightly as he heard her words in his head, _"My, my, Mr. Holmes, you must be losing your touch" _from their first case back together. He took a breath before addressing John, a phrase of his other sibling in his head, _"Caring is not an advantage." _

"John. She's managed to send a text." John's head snapped up from his laptop. After Sherlock had explained what had happened to Gabrielle in America, he had immediately started researching. Convinced this would do nothing to help them, Sherlock had settled on the couch and slammed five patches onto his arm. John had been told that it was in fact a case gone wrong that had resulted in this; a particularly nasty one with the triads smuggling people into America. Naturally, Gabrielle had been involved – 'very exciting' as she had told Sherlock – but it didn't go as planned.

"Really?" He asked incredulously. His mind raced with questions; how could she have done it? Was it a trap? A bluff?

"No, I was lying," Sherlock retorted. John sighed, exasperated at himself for having taught Sherlock the purpose of sarcasm. "Of course she did!"

"So where is she?" John asked as he got up and started shrugging on his coat.

"Haven't the faintest." Sherlock sighed as he placed his chin over his hands. John stopped moving for a few seconds. He found it hard to believe that Gabrielle wouldn't give them a clue as to where she was.

"Hang on, what?" He asked again, not sure if he had heard right.

"I already told you John; learn to listen, will you?" Sherlock replied irritably, flinging himself back onto the sofa.

"So she has no idea where she is, then?" John said incredulously, a feeling of despair engulfing him as he sat down, coat still on.

"Worse," Sherlock sighed. "It seems she has resigned."

"Resigned? As in quit?" The laptop was slammed shut. "But that's preposterous; Gabrielle is like a bull in a china shop, she'll rage on and won't stop."

"Well apparently not this time." Sherlock said simply. There was a moment of silence as the pair contemplated this.

"So what are we going to do?" John turned to Sherlock, "What's our game plan?"

"I'm thinking about it!" Sherlock snapped. John looked around the room, his eyes suddenly resting on the skull.

"_Friend of mine... Well, when I say friend." _

John doubted he would ever forget that.

"_I am the closest thing to a friend Sherlock can have... an enemy."_

Mycroft...

"Mycroft!" John suddenly shouted, spilling tea over himself. His complaint was lost in the epiphany of the moment. Sherlock sighed.

"I'm trying to think right now, John; it would help if you didn't shout my insufferable brother's name."

"No, I mean, we could..." John was still mid-thought as he explained the idea to Sherlock. "We could ask Mycroft. I mean, does Mycroft care about Gabrielle?"

"As much as the Holmes are capable of caring," Sherlock admitted.

"Then let's ask him—"

"Ask him what exact— oh..." Sherlock shot up to a seated position when it dawned upon him.

"Ask him to locate the phone from which the text was sent." John confirmed his thoughts.

"But it's Mycroft," Sherlock said in disdain.

"Are you really going to make your sister suffer because of your petty childhood fights? Look, I'm sorry for your broken teddy bear or Smurfs or whatever, but right now, family feuds to the side, yeah?" John ordered in exasperation. "I'll call him."

"_John, lovely to hear your voice." _The constantly sneering voice greeted him at the end of the line. John didn't have caller ID, but he didn't want to know how Mycroft knew it was him calling.

"Mycroft, we need help." John said, getting to the point immediately.

"_Well no need for niceties, John; simply get straight to the point."_

"Yeah, so I did." John retorted. Really, how could the brothers be more detached when it came to their own sister?"We got a text from Gabrielle. If I tell you the number, can you get us the location of the phone?"

"_John, I'm not sure I can. You know, I'm not the Government—"_

"Yes, you are." John replied simply. Sherlock sighed and put his hand out for the phone. John reluctantly gave it and threw the rest of his tepid tea into the sink.

"Mycroft, wonderful to talk to you," Sherlock started with a false smile. "What type of cake was your favourite again? Ah, yes, chocolate." There were a few moments of silence, before he received an answer.

"_I'll see what I can do." _

"Seriously?" John stormed back into the living room. "It's your bloody sister and you need to give him cake for him to do something?!"

"No, John, I needed to give him an excuse to do something nice, so that people wouldn't begin to believe he was soft-hearted." Sherlock explained slowly, patronisingly as he handed the phone back to him. John had no time to reply as Sherlock received a text. "Ah. Perfect." Sherlock got up from his seat and started putting on his coat and scarf. When he was in the doorway, he turned back to John, "Are you coming?"

"Sorry, that was how long?" John asked, shaking his head as he stood up, as if he were escaping a trance.

"About ten seconds." Sherlock nodded, closing the door behind John.

"Right." John nodded and the pair exited 221B, Baker Street.

* * *

><p>Numb.<p>

That was all she felt; if numb may even be called a feeling. As she woke up, the painful numbness began to spread across her limbs. The cold of the stone underneath her seeped through her clothes. It made her shudder.

Her shivering gave her an awareness of her surroundings. A damp, dark room. She was sitting on a chair, her ankles tied to the legs of the chair and her wrists tied behind her back. Fortunately, no gag or blindfold; both of which she had suffered from in the past. Suddenly, agony spiked in her shoulder and she yelled out. She turned her face around and almost retched at the sight of her maimed and bloody skin, muscle and ligament twisted.

She shook her head. That wouldn't do. She immediately got to work, attempting to untie the rope. Barely after a few minutes, she felt the rope digging into her skin. The raw skin bled but she kept trying.

Being oblivious. That was the worst part of it. She had no idea what time it was or where she was. The only measure of time was the extent of the pain in her wrists. As far as she knew, it could have been a minute or four hours. All she knew was that she was getting tired. She was getting tired, but she could not afford to fall asleep.

How could this be happening to her? This couldn't be happening to her. How could she be locked up in this dark room? It was impossible, preposterous.

She sighed and felt her wrists drop.

Gabrielle knew the psychology of it: the five steps.

But forget moronic psychology, where the hell were her brothers?! How dare they claim to be any form of genius if they couldn't even work out where she was? What kind of crappy brothers were they? And besides, why did she even come in the first place? Oh right, she had walked straight into the arms of the enemy. Like a moron. And just so that she could save them? Why did she have to be so kind? Why didn't she just leave Sherlock and John to be killed by the snipers? Why didn't she just run away?

"Come on! You can't be serious here!" Gabrielle shouted. No answer.

"Look, I'll give you whatever you want!"

"What is it you want? Just tell me! Anything! Money? I got plenty of that; you want some?!" Gabrielle pleaded.

"Just get me out of here!" She yelled out.

"Just get me out of here..." She leaned her head back a tear escaped her eye, running down her cheek. She felt the saltiness on her lips. She was crying. She was useless. No one gave two craps about her. If Sherlock or Mycroft cared they would be here by now. Nobody cared about her. Even when she had gone to America...

"_Who do you think you are Holmes? The friggin' Queen?" _

"_All that ego in your head must make you drown in the swimming pool"_

"_Attention-whore." _

"_Psychopath." _

"_Arrogant." _

"_Volatile."_

"_Useless." _

So much for the American Dream, she thought bitterly as the tears continued to run down her face.

"HELLO?!" She tried one last time. Her echo rang throughout the building. Only silence embraced her call. Gabrielle was going to die. She didn't know how long it had been, but it had been long enough. Nobody was coming to get her. She didn't even know where she was. Nobody was coming to get her. She had been left here to die; slowly and painfully. Starvation, dehydration. Nobody was coming to get her. She was going to hell. And nobody could stop it. Gabrielle slumped down in her chair; resigned.

The five steps:

Denial. Anger. Negotiation. Despair. And finally...

Acceptance.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So how did you find it? I've got to admit I don't usually write angst so any comments would be wonderful :) Thanks for having read this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it! ^^ **

**I don't know if I've told you already but I'm thinking on about two or three more chapters. Have a nice day :3 **


	10. The Stand

**10. THE STAND**

Previously:

'_Gabrielle knew the psychology of it: the five steps.'_

_Gabrielle is being held in captivity while Sherlock and John have located her with Mycroft's help. But are they going to get there in time? And is Gabrielle going to make a stand or is she too tired and resigned? _

Gabrielle looked at her surroundings with dreary eyes; one could always hope. But it was a fading hope, fading to despair, fading like the stars at dawn. She had no knowledge of any time passing. She couldn't tell except for how tired she was getting. She was trying to battle against her drowsiness, fearing that she may never wake if she went to sleep. But she couldn't fight it much longer. Her head started to drop.

There was an audible click that broke the silence as the door opened. Footsteps padded along the floor and she stood straight in her chair. All her drowsiness left her as she became completely aware of the small sounds in the room, the musty smell and the darkness.

"I thought you were all gone," She said, twisting her tied up body to try and see who was there. A figure emerged from the shadows.

"I was sent here to make sure you wouldn't do anything funny while you were dying," the guard said with a sadistic smile, placing a bottle of vodka on the floor.

"Well that's kind of you." Gabrielle muttered and added with a grin when she noticed the alcohol, "Any chance of acquiring some water?" Before she knew what had happened, a red hot pain spread across her face from her cheek, where he had just slapped her.

"I suggest you keep your mouth shut," Pit black eyes glared at her before he smirked and added, "It can't be that hard to die in silence." He picked up the bottle and took a gulp from it.

"You'd think!" Gabrielle gave a sour grimace. She tried to ignore the pain in her cheek. The guard just shook his head and walked off into another part of the room. Her smile widened slightly – the fact that someone else was there... it wasn't the brilliant company that made her smile, it was more the fact that this meant change. And change meant hope.

* * *

><p>"Damn it, why is there so much bloody traffic in London right now?!" John lashed out in frustration. Thankfully, he wasn't at the wheel; that would have been dangerous.<p>

"It's the rush hour John, what did you expect?" Sherlock replied calmly, although his fingers gave away his anxiety as they drummed on the steering wheel impatiently. The traffic light turned green and Sherlock pushed his foot practically all the way to the floor of the sleek Aston Martin that Mycroft had lent them.

"And why did we need such a flashy car?" John muttered, flipping through all the pockets on the side to find his phone as the car sped along, way over the speed limit. Not that the speed limit mattered; having Mycroft as a brother was useful.

"You know that this is the only one that Mycroft had and this was the only way; unless you wanted to catch a taxi in the middle of nowhere." Sherlock turned to John looking at his phone and sighing, "She's not going to be able to send another text, John. We were lucky she managed to send that last one."

"How would we have found her otherwise?" John asked Sherlock, who shrugged.

"I'd have eventually found something." John laughed, although slightly nervously.

"Of course you would have." Sherlock smirked. They rolled to a stop as the car rolled onto a sandy trail. "We're here, John."

* * *

><p>Gabrielle hissed as the rope rubbed against the irritated skin on her wrist again.<p>

"Oh I hope you're not hurt," came a sarcastic drawl from the shadows. Gabrielle narrowed her eyes slightly as she thought of something. She had forgotten about her ankles, and she managed to slip them out with ease.

"Actually, the ropes are getting slightly tight here, could you loosen them a little, please?" Gabrielle called out. The guard scoffed and walked over. She smiled at him as he walked behind her and tightened the ropes.

"Better?" The guard asked.

"Much," She said as she flipped the knife in her hands behind her back. She kicked him hard and he fell to the ground. "Much, much better actually!" As he got up, she cut the rope in her hand and jumped up, punching him square in the face, smiling at the crunch she heard as the blood ran from his nose.

The guard leapt to the side and Gabrielle punched the wall, breaking the skin on her knuckles. She hissed in pain and wiped the blood on her shirt. The guard ducked under her punch and hit her cut shoulder. Gabrielle yelled out and clutched her arm, falling to her knees.

"Oh I'm sure you feel great now!" he shouted at her, kicking her in the ribs and smiling as she cried out in pain. Gabrielle's eyes narrowed as she flicked her leg out, making him fall down onto the stone with a painful crack in his back. She rolled over and sprung to her feet, her hand still gripping her shoulder. She straddled the guard and punched his face until he was almost unconscious.

Suddenly, he whistled and five more guards rushed in. Gabrielle lost focus for a moment and that was enough for the guard to fling her off. She groaned as her back hit the stone floor. As quickly as she could, she leapt up. Gabrielle stopped dead in her tracks when she heard the click of a gun being pushed into her back.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, hang on!" John panted, leaning against the wall.<p>

"John, we have to keep on going," Sherlock told John, gripping his arm and dragging him.

"Go on without me, I'll stay here and just wait for you," John muttered, putting his head back as he breathed out shakily.

"John I need you with me," Sherlock said, "Besides, there are still some people around here – I'm not sure where but I saw their footsteps at the entrance." John breathed out, his head in his hands. He thought about Gabrielle and what could be happening to her right now.

"Let's go."

* * *

><p>Gabrielle froze. She was surrounded and there was a gun pointed to her back. She felt adrenaline coursing through her veins and knew she was in the typical fight or flight situation. It was up to her to decide which it would be. Suddenly, she smirked and flexed her muscles. Gabrielle had always liked a little danger.<p>

She swirled around, gripping the gun and slamming the butt of the gun into the guard's chin. As the four others ran closer, she ducked slightly and swirled around with a roundhouse kick, hitting two of their necks. One gripped her leg and she jumped, her other leg kicking him in the stomach. She fell back to the ground and quickly rolled around, sliding her leg around in a circle and tripping up a guard.

Another one punched her in the face. She fell to the ground. She rolled over with wide eyes as he was about to shoot her. Gabrielle sprung up to her feet and knocked him over with a roundhouse kick to his temple.

She grinned, thinking she had dealt with them all when a gun slammed into her neck from behind choking her with it and she gasped. She ducked down, rolling over and trying to make him let go. She needed air and the gun was pressing deeper into her neck, closing off her throat. She choked and flung her arms behind her, grabbing the back of his head and slamming it into the ground twice. She gulped in the precious air as she grabbed the gun and rolled away.

Gabrielle looked around the room, rolling over and aiming once again. There was nobody else there who was still conscious.

She sighed, breathing shakily. She sharply inhaled as she saw the bloody mess that her shoulder was. Remembering the bottle of vodka, she crawled to it and spilled some over her maimed shoulder. She almost screamed at the intense pain but bit her lip; she didn't want to alert anybody else who was maybe still in the building that she was still alive and well. She ripped off a part of her shirt and hissed as she tried to gently place it over her shoulder, twisting it around to tie it tightly shut over the wound.

Gabrielle breathed out and leant against the pillar, knowing that she would have to get out soon. It was too risky to stay for more than a few minutes, even to rest.

Suddenly, she heard a shuffling from the shadows. The woman sucked in a breath and swivelled around, crouching on her toes. She pointed the gun in the direction of the sound. She stood up slowly and silently starting walking over, finger on the trigger.

* * *

><p>The gunshot rang loud and clear across the silent building. John and Sherlock snapped their heads to it. Before one of them could say something there was another gunshot followed by a scream. They looked at each other, fearing for Gabrielle and ran faster.<p>

* * *

><p>Gabrielle walked deeper into the shadows, finger still on the trigger, ready to flex and fire. There was another shuffle and her finger instinctively flexed, pulling the trigger and sending a shockwave up her arm as the gun recoiled.<p>

"You missed," a voice came from the shadows, followed by a cruel laugh, "But I won't." Gabrielle swivelled her head around, trying to decipher the source of the voice. She stepped around in a circle with handy footwork when she heard the cock of a gun and became dead still.

The bullet ripped through the chair and she leapt away from it, cradling her head from the shrapnel of wood. Her injured shoulder slammed into the stone floor and she screamed, unable to handle the pain as she rolled to a still, a few feet away from the chair. The agent gritted her teeth and forced herself to stand, using the chair as a support.

"Are you going to lie in the shadows all day, you coward?!" She shouted, aiming the gun once again. "Come out and face me you weak, puny idiot!" The woman yelled, glaring as she twisted her head around. There was no answer. "Can't handle me, is that it!?"

"I think I can, actually," the threatening voice was suddenly behind her. Gabrielle ducked and hooked a punch in his face. The punch sent him reeling backwards and she kicked him in the stomach. He grabbed her leg, twisting it and she yelled with pain. Fuelled by pain and anger, she kicked out with it and twisted around, throwing a punch to his temple. He crumpled to the floor, knocked out.

Gabrielle dropped to the floor, her palms flat on the floor as she got her breath back. When she got up, the muscles in her leg screamed with pain. She gasped and fell back down. She was panting and tired, thirsty and starving. She gritted her teeth and dug her nails into her palm, using the chair as a support to get back up.

When the door slammed open again with what she could only assume were more guards, she just had the strength to hide behind one of the pillars.

* * *

><p>"Gabrielle!" Sherlock shouted as he and John slammed the door open and rushed into the room. The stone room was empty apart from the bodies strewn across the floor and a chair with ropes across it in the middle. "She must have been kept here, John, look out for any clues."<p>

A figure came out from behind a pillar, a gun in their hand. They heard the hammer being cocked and John took out his own gun.

"Gabrielle!" Sherlock suddenly realised. The woman stopped dead in her tracks.

"Sherlock! John!" She smiled and tucked the gun in the back of her trousers again. "You're late," She said with a grin. Sherlock smiled and put an arm around her, squeezing her uninjured shoulder.

"Gabrielle what happened to your shoulder?" John asked, eyes widening at the sight of it. Gabrielle sighed – her very temporary bandage must have undone.

"A psychotic with a knife happened," She told him with a sour smile, "Let's just get home. I can't stand being in this place for much longer."

She limped forward and tripped, losing balance but John rushed to her and held her up, "Thanks, John." She whispered, her fist slightly clenching in pain. John and Sherlock supported her as they walked back to home. Back to 221B.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: What did you think? It's one of my first times writing an action scene, so any advice would be great! You might be glad to know that I've already written the epilogue so I'll post it tomorrow probably. Till then, have a nice day and thanks for reading - beautiful, virtual cookies to you. <strong>


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

It was a few months later that she contacted them again.

_Sherly,_

_I'm sorry it's been so long. Even with dear Mycroft's help, it hasn't been easy to settle in and pretend I've been there all my life. I presume I'm destined to move around constantly for the rest of my life. It's in the stars, right Sherly? Ah, of course, you express a certain bewilderment as to the purpose of cosmology, do you not? Well let me reassure you dear brother, I don't believe destiny is written in the stars. Although some people do here. Sherlock, I think they have an even lower IQ than the majority of those in America and it pains me. I miss having an intelligent conversation; it's been a few months after all. _

_Try not to annoy John too much; he's a good friend. Frankly, I believe he's too good for you. Don't make that face Sherly, I'm joking. He's loyal and I'm sure he'll help you in your times of need. So try not to push him away, whatever you may believe about his mental capacities. He has a good heart, and he's strong. Sherlock, what I'm trying to say is, he's one of your only friends and he's not temporary; at least I hope not. Don't be abrasive. _

_And tell him to not overdose on tea or jam. And that I'll miss him and hope to see him again. Also tell him that I expect him to take care of you when you go on those wild quests of yours to find the most abstract mixture of tobacco ash. But that I don't blame him if he doesn't. _

_For obvious reasons, I can't tell you where I am, only that I may not be able to contact you for a while. Who knows, maybe one day they'll stop chasing me and I'll be safe in England, by your side. I long for that day. _

_May we meet again Sherly,_

_Gabby_

Usually, Sherlock only received letters from clients, so smiling at a letter was not normal.

"Who is it?" John asked, sipping his tea as he flicked through the headlines. Apparently, Prince Harry had found a girlfriend (very headline worthy) and a girl had drowned in the Thames.

"It's Gabrielle," Sherlock answered with a smile. John's head snapped up.

"Is she okay?" He asked, anxious. In his mind, the fact that she only contacted them now could only mean she was in trouble. When she had left a few months ago, he knew that he wouldn't probably have the chance to talk to her again.

"Of course she is," Sherlock replied with a scoff, "She's a Holmes. She's independent. Don't worry about her." The former army doctor sighed and drank some more tea.

"What's she saying?" John asked after a few moments.

"That you shouldn't overdose on tea or jam," Sherlock said, looking pointedly at his mug and at the biscuits covered with jam beside it. "And that she'll miss you." John smiled.

"Very Gabby." He simply said. Sherlock smiled, placing the letter beside the skull. Suddenly, his phone rang,

"Lestrade? ... Yes of course it's Sherlock ... We'll be on our way," Sherlock hung up the phone. "Apparently a woman has been found with bizarre red spots all over her body and there seems to be no obvious cause to her death - at least, that's what Lestrade believes."

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" John sighed and put the newspaper aside, gulping down the remains of his tepid tea before putting on his coat.

"Nothing, let's get going," Sherlock said with a smile. He shrugged on his coat and scarf, opening the door for John. Before leaving, Sherlock paused at the door, his smile slipping from his face, "I long for that day too Gabrielle," he whispered before once again, placing that invisible mask upon his face.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: If any of you read John's blog, you might recognise the case at the end, it's the "Speckled Blonde" - I think, or at least I hope, that I mentioned that this was set in ASIB at some point, when Sherlock and John are doing all those cases. **

**Anyway, I can't believe it's finished! It's been quite a while since I first started. I wanted to say thank you so much for all the support you've given me. All the follows, the favourites and the reviews, they mean the world to me. I know I haven't been great on the update schedule - in fact, I've been pretty crap - but if you're still here that means you stuck by me. A writer is nothing without the reader, so thank you very much! **

**I've been asked about a sequel and I'm not really sure about that - I haven't got any ideas whatsoever, but I'll definitely think about it! I'd love to experiment with writing Gabby some more so if you liked it, please tell me so that I can consider a sequel. **

**Also, if you want any sort of small one-shots or anything with Gabby, Sherlock, John or any other characters from Sherlock, you can always PM me a prompt and I'd be happy to write it for you.**

**Once again, thank you so much for all the support, it really is thanks to you that I managed to finish this x**


End file.
